


I (don’t) want to be out of this dream (forever)

by ImberReader



Series: Light a blue flame, I’m running (to you) [3]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Although Brienne is in deep denial about this fact, F/M, Hums to the tune of (I can't get no) Satisfaction, Jaime/Brienne Monthly Madness, Masturbation, Sparingly sprinkles some Enemies to Lovers energy on top of this, There is plot somewhere there if you squint, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24398197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImberReader/pseuds/ImberReader
Summary: There is no way she could dream likethisof a man so damned if he wasn’t her Soulmate, Brienne thinks. But it's not the soulmark she thinks of when he smiles or their swords clash, or even what captures her attention about his hand in said dream.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: Light a blue flame, I’m running (to you) [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1594345
Comments: 18
Kudos: 79
Collections: J/B Monthly Madness: May 2020





	I (don’t) want to be out of this dream (forever)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nire](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nire/gifts).



> Because when Nire tells you 'write porrrrrrrrrrrrrrrn', sometimes you write porn, even if you don't know how to (and it shows). Especially if her birthday were just few days ago and you finally have a day off. ~~who cares about the 100 other ideas crying to be finished.~~ So happy (late) birthday, you devilish enabler, you.
> 
> Ended up a little bit of 'let's play bingo with all May Madness prompts', too. (Masturbation, political match and maiden. Funnily enough political match was hardest to work into seamlessly in clear manner.)
> 
>  _Not_ the third installment of this verse I imagined writing. 
> 
> Title from [Red Moon](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0o45hUReYpA) by Kim Wooseok which is horny anthem in its own right.
> 
> Sort of beta-d by the lovely [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/pseuds/Roccolinde) who is also greatly to blame for this existing. You can find me on [tumblr.](https://scoundrels-in-love.tumblr.com/)

The room is dark, though she catches sight of a weapon rack at the edge of her vision and a light through the stained glass window outlining them both just enough. Brienne is breathing heavy and there is thrum in her body, not unfamiliar, even before he begins moving toward her. She steps back. Not running away. Leading him. Them. To the wall that he presses her into, but she can only feel him, the way he breathes _Brienne_ , the inhale before he speaks touching his chest to hers even further, somehow. The way she jolts, does the same, and it’s not just a thrumming anymore, it’s cacophony drowned out by a waterfall that pushes her toward him.

She doesn’t exactly _see_ Jaime in the dim light, but it can be no one else, Brienne knows, with the way his body melds to her, the way she wants, and then stray sunbeam dances in the room, tangles into his golden hair and her fingers follow its suit, dragging him up for a kiss and there is no other color but gold and green in this black and gray world. 

Brienne cannot explain exactly how, but her shirt is parted now and his hand is cupping her breast, his knee between her legs and he is kissing… sucking on her throat, hot and wet and everything. “I want you,” he says, hoarse and it’s greedy too somehow, like his touch, and she keens, arching into it. 

She is somehow half watching it, half _experiencing_ it, and everything melts together into shadows and heat of his hand between her thighs, Jaime’s mouth on her pulse or maybe her nipple, because there is _want_ in all of her and so is he, until it all blurs further still - the darkness around her becoming cool and real, the hand trying to cup and rub at her ache is her own and instead of being on brink of _something_ right about to be given, Brienne feels only confused frustration.

The dream still feels slick and heated against her skin, it tangles around her thoughts like the sheets are around her limbs, and it drives her to to touch herself in sloppy, fervent movements, trying to will herself back into the place she had just been, to imagine what could have followed, what he would’ve done, but she _can’t_. She wants, wants, wants, but doesn’t know what, now that the dream has slipped away, closing the door to a world where her name in Jaime’s mouth could cut her straight open with something other than mockery. The ache inside of her dims as she whines and her wrist seizes up and finally, Brienne stills, her thighs still clamped around her hand. 

It all drips away then and she sinks into the tremorless darkness of quiet sleep.

The morning is not as forgiving.

Maybe it isn’t the first thing she thinks of upon waking, but it may as well be and the mortification splits her apart like lightning had the old oak that used to contemplate the sea on the cliffside near Evenfall Hall. 

Brienne rushes to wash up, as if she could cleanse her skin and mind clean and safe as it had been just last night. (But had it? Had she not had her heart beating in her throat, a strange fire licking its way through her limbs when he had pressed so close only their blades and their breath were between them yesterday’s eve? Had she not thought a smile suited him well, before deciding he didn’t have the right to such a light and leisurely expression when he casually robbed so many others of theirs?) 

The white line stands out on her wrist reddened from scrubbing, like snow against blood, and she blames it furiously. There is no way she could dream of a man so damned if he wasn’t her Soulmate. Her Septa had never expected Brienne to meet hers and she had never warned what it would entail, but neither had she ever said that something between man and woman could be so all-consuming. (The opposite, really.) It has to come from _somewhere_. 

When her handmaid arrives, Brienne feels as if the girl can tell where her hand had been, somehow, and just the thought of it makes her flush an unflattering shade of red (she loathes the color all the more now that it has been draped across her shoulders in the Sept) that she has to watch spreading all the way to her chest in the mirror. Chest that he had--

But the handmaid says nothing and soon enough, the blood drains away from Brienne’s face as she realizes she’s to have breakfast with her husband in a few moments. How is she to face him and not recall the wild, dark look in his eyes, the way his lips had slanted against hers that had been an artwork filled with unknown, new colors versus the dull, black brush of their wedding kiss? 

In the end, Jaime makes it easy for her.

It takes him only one glance at her to go on offense: “Astonishing - your face is even more dour than usual, wife. I did not think it to be possible. Tell me, what offends you so?” Brienne pins him with a glare and does not deign to answer, but his grin only spreads, just as weight does in her chest. The meal lacks flavor like it has not since the week after their wedding and it is no fault of the cook’s.

She wonders how the absurdity and impossibility of “I want you” had not shaken her out of the damned dream while she chews with mindless determination to get done with her serving. There may not be enough numbers to count the times and ways Jaime has shown how undesirable she is, nor there is reason to count, for it feels etched in her skin like another set of freckles, undeniable and weightless. 

On their wedding night, Jaime had told her as much outright: “Looking anxious suits you even less than the wedding gown, _wife_. Do not worry, I wish to bed you even less than you want the Kingslayer to take your maidenly honor, and even if the gods had taken my wits and I wanted to, I would not do so against your will. Our fathers will expect heirs, but they will have to be satisfied with lands instead. At least those I believe you’re capable of giving.” There had been no cutting remark to be found on her tongue before the door between their chambers slammed shut behind him, a kinder final note than she had expected for the dutiful song of this day. 

He'd been even more cutting before the wedding, as their kings and fathers had crafted their political match, and after, his sheer arrogance delivered with smirk stealing her breath and her wits, often leaving her with only clang of her sword against his for rebuttal. It _had_ stung each time, but dim and distant, like brushing a hand against something sharp and knowing a hair-width closer and it would hurt. She didn’t wish to be _wanted_ and it had been an armor against the sneer on his lips and the frost-laced leaf shade of his gaze. 

And now this defense had been stolen away from her chambers in the dark of night. By no other than herself. Because the ache she had not found solution for physically has now migrated to settle like a loose steel ring around her stomach, a yearning for things that she can scarcely find form of - the coaxing song of her name of his lips, the bloom of faith in being told she can be and _is_ wanted. She hadn’t thought of it before, hadn’t known it existed to be dreamed of, just like the way their dream selves had touched. 

But as vulnerable and bare as she feels now, before her own judgement and Jaime’s sharp eyes she can feel on and beneath her skin (where she has never invited him, but when has Kingslayer cared for propriety?), she is not defeated yet. He doesn’t - _won’t_ \- know, it will not become a poison-tipped dagger in his vast arsenal to slip between her ribs, like she had expected him to after their wedding. 

She glances at Jaime and sees him almost sour now, as if her silence today has somehow been a more upsetting deflection of his cruel words than other times. Brienne wishes she knew how or why, so she could bear it again. It would do her good when, in a moon’s time, they are to depart together for Twins.

She will ride with him as equal in name and rank as bargained for, if not believed yet by their men, not as a foolish girl that pants his name into the night. Some tension dissolves in her then, as she turns the vastness of desire into many smaller foes to defeat one by one as they go through the next campaign. Brienne is _used_ to unending fights and this marriage has been one before they ever exchanged their hollow vows. At least that is as Septa Roelle had promised her, though she had expected Brienne to never take up arms in this battle or any other.

When she raises from table and confirms that they are up for another bout this evening at Jaime’s inquiry, he flashes her a grin that has no right to be as smug as it is. And when Brienne almost makes him yield later, the thrill of it sings so enticingly she forgets all the reasons why she shouldn’t listen to its call. 

**Author's Note:**

> Badly depicted: Jaime 'I really really don't like her but I really really want to pull her proverbial pigtails' Lannister.
> 
> Also very clearly depicted: how the hell do I do summaries. And write something above Teen rating.


End file.
